Author Note:
Are the chapters in this story too long?  I'm curious about reader opinions both for this story and the next I'm going to post.  Thanks if you respond and also thanks for reading!

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The next morning I was awoken by a knock on my door.  I pulled on a robe and opened it, only to find Michael on the other side.

"Good morning, little girl," he said.

"The same to you, old geezer," I responded in a sweet voice.

"You can't know how your endearments warm my heart," he said, and I fought back an embarrassing blush, reminding myself there was no reason for me to act like a flustered girl.

He continued on, either unaware or ignoring my inner struggle.  "There has been some business which has come up that cannot be ignored.  We will have to fly out tonight instead."

"Okay," I agreed, although I was quite surprised at the abrupt change of plans.  "Is something wrong?" I wondered.

He smiled what appeared to be a genuine smile.  "Nothing which cannot be dealt with effectively.  But I didn't come here to bore you with my problems.  I actually came to suggest you go and ask Tara to set you up with a couple of suitable outfits.  You'll buy some more clothes once we arrive.  Alex will be by shortly to drive you to the village."

"I could drive myself," I suggested, remembering Alex talking about packing.

"He said he has the time to spare."

"Can I bring some books?" I wondered.

"A few," Michael agreed, but I could tell his attention was already elsewhere.  "We're scheduled to leave at six.  Until then," he said and he closed the door behind him.

I got dressed and went and walked to the kitchen.  Pierre was there and he made me my favorite, some delicious waffles with syrup and whipped cream and strawberries.  It was extremely good and even better because it was on Bob's prohibited food list.

Pierre sat down at the table next to me and leaned back a bit.  I continued eating.

"So you're leaving?" Pierre commented.

I was surprised to hear him break the silence voluntarily.  Even after my two years on the island, Pierre remained nearly as silent as he had been at the beginning.

"Yeah, Michael asked me to go with him."

"Good."

I wondered what he meant by that, if he was glad to see me leave.  He had always made such nice food for me; I had assumed he communicated his feelings through it.  Perhaps I had just imagined it all.  The thought hurt.

"You'll find a new donor?" he asked.

"What?"  Oh, outside of the island.  Was that why Michael was taking me?  Perhaps that's what Pierre had meant.  I smiled, "Probably."

He nodded, then got up and started doing his thing again.  I finished eating and rinsed my plate.  "Thanks Pierre," I said as I moved out the door, feeling considerably lighter.

"There you are, Dylan," Alex said the moment I walked out into the bright sunshine.

"I was just getting something to eat," I told him.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah," I agreed.

We walked to the jeep and he drove me to the village.  I was lost in my own thoughts, and presumably he was lost in his own.

"I've got a couple of people to say goodbye to," Alex told me when we stopped.

"That's fine," I agreed.  He would just be bored waiting for me anyways.  I probably would be too, but that was unavoidable.

"I'll come back when I'm done," he told me.

"Okay," I agreed and walked over to the shop alone.

Tara practically pounced on me when I opened the door.  "Eek!" she shrieked like a joyous banshee, "Dylan!  I just heard a little while ago!  You're going to Paris!  With Michael!"

"Yes," I agreed cautiously.  I could not help but wonder at the source of her enthusiasm.

"It's going to be absolutely fantastic!  I'm so happy for you!  I'm so excited!  The lights!  The food!  The shops and the sights! I've heard all about it!  And, Paris is the city of romance!" she sang.  I was about to break her off before she could go any farther, but she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and added in an exasperated voice, "I know, I know.  There is absolutely nothing between you and Michael and you have no intentions of changing that.  But..."  Tara's voice showed me clearly she knew nothing of the sort.  "Paris is the city of romance!  Who knows what changes will happen in your hearts?  Oh, there are so many possibilities!  And don't you go telling me that you don't like him, because it's obvious that you are drawn to him.  And he shows you attention that I've never seen him devote to anyone!"

I groaned, "That hardly means anything."

"You're right," Tara agreed, surprisingly cheerfully.  "It does hardly mean anything when the two people involved are such stubborn idiots that nothing comes of it!  That's such a shame!  Michael is such a fantastic man!  He's handsome, and generous, and funny, and-"

"If you think he's so wonderful, why don't you pursue him?" I cut her off.

Tara shrugged.  "I don't suit him at all.  You, on the other hand-"

I finished her sentence for her, "Also do not suit him at all."

"Oh, Dylan, your complete lack of self awareness is really one of the most charming things about you!"

"Thank you," I responded sarcastically.  Pot, meet kettle.

Tara rolled her eyes in such an exaggerated gesture it looked like they would fall out of her skull.  "It's obvious to everyone that Michael holds you in a special place, like no one else."

"Yeah, I'm the ridiculous court jester," I commented dryly.

"You're more than that and you should know it!  He treats you differently than anyone!  He teases you and he lets down his guard around you.  With everyone else he has a bland genial manner.  But you are a special existence for him."

"You're crazy," I told her.  I could not help if a very stupid part of me wanted to believe her words.  Tara was correct in that I did find Michael intriguing in an enigmatic way.  How many times did he cross my mind when I had not seen him for a long time?  Would it be so bad if he had a special interest in me?  I felt cautiously happy at the idea, before I brought myself back down to earth.  Either way, Tara was probably imagining everything.  It did not matter that she was uncannily perceptive about other people's affairs, even Tara could be wrong some of the time.  Like this time, for example.

She shrugged again, "Well, you'll do what you want.  You always do.  So, now let's get a couple of outfits for you.  Michael said just enough for a couple of days.  He told me that he'll be taking you shopping, you lucky thing!  Shopping in Paris!  Look me in the eyes!  Are they turning green with envy?" she asked and continued babbling on while she fitted me for a couple of outfits, thankfully staying away from her favorite topic of Michael.

Tara made me wear a new outfit and stuck a couple more in a bag along with all the necessary accessories.  Alex was not there yet, so Tara used it as an excuse to force me to agree to allow her to do my hair and nails.  She was busy with my hair when Alex came in.

"We won't be long, Alex," she told him cheerfully.

"Alright," he agreed and then sat down for a long dose of Tara talk.

After a while, Tara's endless stream turned to more serious matters.  "So, I hear you're leaving, Alex," she commented in a funny tone.

"Yes.  I stayed longer than I had planned anyway.  I might come back one day, though."

"Will you?" she asked him, her voice doubtful.

"Yes," he said warily.

Tara shrugged.  "A lot of people who say that never do."

"I plan to," he repeated and sent a pleading glance at me as if I had some magical skill to manage Tara.

I supposed I did have one idea.  I interrupted.  "Tara, do you know where the best stores are in Paris?"

"I'm so glad that you asked!" she said happily, her attention apparently successfully diverted.  She went into a long discourse I would certainly not recall later.

When Tara was done with me, she waved me off cheerfully, with a command to "Bring me back something!  I'm a size eight!"  I wondered how she was able to keep even that much on her bones, the way she buzzed around like a hummingbird.

Alex and I both said our goodbyes and she continued waving, but I thought I saw an odd look pass over her face before it disappeared again.  We got into the jeep and Alex turned the ignition.  Then we were driving down the road and I was preoccupied with other thoughts.

When we got back to the house I went to my room and organized myself for the trip.  I had found Tara's company more exhausting than usual and I wanted nothing more than to take a nap while I waited.  I did not, though, because I had no desire to be caught sleeping by Michael when it was time to leave.  To pass the time, I made sure everything was in order.  I sat down to read until there was a knock on my door.

"Dylan?" I heard Alex's voice call out.  I realized it might just be the last time Alex would come and fetch me.  The thought made me kind of sad.  I brushed it aside.

"Just a second."  I jumped up and went and opened the door.

"I'll help you load up your luggage into the jeep.  Is this all you have?" he asked, looking at my one small suitcase and single carryon bag.

"Yeah.  Apparently Michael will take me shopping," I explained.

He nodded.  "I would like to look around there, but I've got to get on my flight back to the home nearly right away.  It was good of Mister Thompson to get me such a convenient flight."

"It sure was," I agreed mildly.

We walked out to the front of the building and Alex put my bag inside.  I noticed his were already sitting in the back.  "Mister Thompson will meet us at the airport," he told me.

"Okay," I agreed, feeling an odd sort of wistfulness.  It felt as if nothing would ever be the same because some cosmic equilibrium had been broken.  I told myself not to be ridiculous.

Alex and I drove to the airport.  Our luggage was taken onto the plane and we also got onboard.  It was only a couple of minutes that passed us by before Michael arrived and only a quarter hour before we were up in the air.

"I must apologize for the last minute change in plans, but a situation has arisen that needs my immediate attention."

"No apologies necessary," Alex was quick to assure Michael.  "I should be thanking you, for everything you have done."

"It was my pleasure.  I am certain that you will be a credit to your profession."

I listened to their exchange, feeling like something of an outsider.   To mask my unease, I pulled a book out of my bag and started reading.  After a while, I noticed both Alex and Michael appeared to be sleeping, but I continued reading until I too fell asleep, my neck in a crooked position.

I woke up a while later with a sore neck and the sensation that I was being watched.  I glanced at Alex, who seemed to still be peacefully sleeping.  I looked over at Michael and as I suspected, he was looking steadily with his intense blue eyes.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said and then looked out the window.

We sat in awkward silence for a while.  I noticed I was getting hungry, but I did not feel like telling him that.  I also noticed the book I had been reading before I fell asleep had ended up on the floor.  I picked it up and buried my face in it to hide my embarrassment.

Other than the light sounds of the plane, everything was quiet but for the even sounds of Alex breathing off to the side of me.  The sound of each page was loud as I flipped to the next.  Finally, Michael broke the silence.

"Something interesting I just thought I'd mention," Michael began.  Was he trying to lighten the atmosphere?  More likely he sought to amuse himself with my reactions.  Some things never changed.

"Yeah?" I asked, looking up from my book.

"Pierre came to me and told me if we absolutely could not find you a donor and you were becoming too weak to go on, he would be willing to donate some blood for you."

The thought that he might be a donor surprised me, because I had come to think of Pierre as his own entity.  I never thought about what he actually was.  He was neither a human nor a potential donor nor was he a vampire god whatever in my mind.  He was simply the Chef; the best one I had ever met although admittedly he had no competition.  I felt a pleasant sensation of warmth at his thoughtfulness, although I already thought he did more than enough by way of feeding me actual food.

"I assured him we would definitely find you someone so he need not worry.  I was just surprised that he offered at all.  He generally dislikes our type and he absolutely loathes Alicia."

"He's never met her as herself, has he?" I wondered out loud without thinking and then regretted it.  I had never shared that experience with anyone.

"Have you?" he asked, looking interested.  I supposed that meant Terrence did not report absolutely everything to Michael.

"Once," I said, and turned my eyes back to the page I had been reading.  "A long time ago."  Although I supposed a couple of years probably did not seem like a long time to him.

I did not want to talk about it and Michael seemed to sense that.  Surprisingly he did not enquire further, but I did feel him looking at me speculatively a few times.  I forced myself to ignore his inquisitive looks.

My stomach growled.  Michael glanced over at me.

"I'll get the stewardess to bring you something to eat.  As soon as we touch down, I must meet with a certain man to discuss something of a proposition that he has offered me."

"A proposition?"

"Nothing for you to worry about.  It should not take much time at all.  I just need to make my position clear."

I nodded, more to indicate my understanding than to agree.  It was not as if Michael needed my agreement to carry out his business.

A few minutes later, the stewardess came out and Michael gave her instructions.  She brought out two trays and set them in front of us.  We both ate, but I was not impressed by the fare likely because I was so terribly spoiled by Pierre's cooking.

I went back to my book after eating and Michael tilted his head back and appeared to be asleep, although I wondered if he was.  The sky had grown dark and I found myself getting drowsy.  I drifted off to sleep again.

              
I was at the Eiffel Tower.  I looked up at the famous sight and walked closer to take a picture.  I tripped and fell flat on my face and the camera I had been holding smashed into a million pieces.  I was clearly the clumsiest vampire god whatever on the face of the planet and it was a depressing thought.  Michael stood behind me and laughed and I felt absolutely furious at his obnoxious laughter.

I woke up and it took me a minute to get my bearings.  Michael was still laughing, although in not quite such an obnoxious fashion as in my dream.  It was still irritating, though.  I opened my eyes and glared at him.

"You were talking in your sleep," Alex informed me.  Apparently he was awake again.

"It was very interesting," Michael added.  He was still chuckling and it grated on my nerves.

"I'm so glad you're amused," I said dryly.

"I thank you for providing such amusement," he said in an irritatingly solicitous tone.

I threw another glare at him and then turned to Alex.  "What did I say?" I asked.

Alex looked at me pleadingly and I stared him down.  I wanted to know.  Finally, he said, "You said something about the Eiffel Tower, the clumsiest vampire god whatever, Mister Thompson's name and you swore a couple of times."

I groaned.  I felt embarrassed.  Michael was the worst.

"We'll be landing in ten minutes," the stewardess said, leaning in through the curtain covering the door to the cockpit area.

"Thank you," Michael said and she went back inside.

I waited patiently while the plane touched down and I followed Michael and Alex down the stairs, clutching my small bag as if it were a life preserver.  It was nearing twilight at the airport.  There were several people waiting for us at the bottom.  Michael nodded to Alex, "Thank you for all your hard work and have a safe trip home."

"Thank you as well, Mister Thompson," Alex responded.  I realized the time had come to say goodbye, but I could not think of anything to say.  Alex's kind face also looked a bit self-conscious, but he managed to say, "Well, see you then."

"You too," I agreed, feeling oddly choked up.  Then one of the waiting people, a woman with big eyes, a hawk nose and straight dark hair swept Alex off with her.

"Follow me," Michael instructed.  "Our bags will be taken care of."

I followed him and the other two people from the group that had awaited us as we had descended.  They spoke in hushed tones to Michael.  I could not hear what they were saying and barely had a desire to.

Finally we arrived at two vehicles; both were sports cars of some type.  There was a person waiting the driver's seat of each one and there were two people waiting in the rear car.

Michael walked over to the driver's side of the lead car, this one a shiny black vehicle. 

"I'll drive," he instructed the driver, who immediately got out.  "You two go in the other vehicle, Jack can come with us," he said.

Both of the two extra men immediately went to the other car and got in.  "Get in," he told me.

I walked around to the passenger side, while Michael got in the driver's.  The other man also went around where I was.  I wondered if I was supposed to sit in the front or the back.

"Go ahead, take the front," said the man whose name was apparently Jack.  He had an accent; I thought British perhaps.

"Are you sure?" I wondered uncertainly.

"It's fine.  Ladies first and all that."  He smiled charmingly and I got into the front seat.

As soon as I closed the door, Michael hit the accelerator, hard.  "Oh, I missed my baby," he commented as I rushed to put my seatbelt on, as we flew down the unnervingly wrong although actually correct side of the road.

"It's a great car," Jack agreed.  I glanced back.  Jack was sitting in the middle of the back seat.  He must have noticed my expression in the mirrors, because he said, "I'm Jack, one of Michael's blood children.  You must be Dylan?"

"Yes, I'm Dylan.  Pleased to meet you," I said.  It was not a lie.  He seemed to be just the sort of person one could not easily dislike.  He had a charming voice and personality as far as I could tell and he was quite pleasing to the eye.  Really, I could hardly believe Jack was a blood child of Michael's.  He was too likeable and he seemed oddly normal.  It was weird.

"Have you ever been to France before?"

"Only in her dreams," Michael put in quickly and laughed.  I scowled at him and saw he had an amused, rather self satisfied grin slathered across his hatefully handsome features.

Jack looked at me quizzically.  "Is going to France one of your dreams?"

"I'm not opposed to the idea," I said, not wanting to talk about it further.  To his credit, Jack seemed to take the hint or else he decided it was not worth making conversation with an eccentric like me.  Either was fine at that moment.

The car drove for about twenty minutes, while I passively watched the scenery go by. Finally, the driver turned off to the side and eventually we parked.  I noticed the other car parked behind us.

There were no buildings nearby and the area was deserted, although I could just barely see what appeared to be a tiny village off in the distance. 

Definitely an odd place to hear a proposal.  It reminded me strongly of a place where one might deal something illegal.  Why had Michael come here?  I was intrigued, in spite of the uneasy shiver that rolled down my back.

We waited and I took my cue from both men.  They waited in silence.  I worked through theories of what Michael might be into and just when I did not think I could take the waiting any longer, another vehicle pulled up.  It looked a little bit beat up and I could only see one person inside.

"Come on, both of you," Michael said and we got out.  I noticed the people in the other vehicle also did the same, although they stayed standing by the other car. 

The lone stranger also got out.  He turned on a flashlight and I watched while he moved the beam around.  I understood he must be just a regular human.  He started to walk forward with his eyes on the spot of light on the ground in front of him.

Michael walked forward as well and Jack followed him.  I trailed behind Jack, unsure if I was supposed to out of the car, but encouraged that no one had bothered to stop me.  Maybe I would have been safer waiting, but at some point during my time on the island I had apparently come to trust that Michael would not let harm befall me.

Michael stopped abruptly.  The man I assumed to be a regular human strode forward.  He was thin with messy dark hair and his face was covered in stubble.  He had a surprisingly confident gate and his shoulders were held up in a distinct gesture of pride.  I thought I might have been intimidated by him before Michael changed and forced me to train.

"Bonjour," I heard the man say.  He proceeded to talk to Michael rapidly in what was almost certainly French.  I could not imagine how Michael could possibly keep up. 

Then Michael responded with what sounded to be the ease of a native.  I wondered how many languages Michael had picked up in his long life.

I listened passively while the unknown man spoke again.  I noticed Jack shaking his head slightly and I realized he too could follow the conversation.  Apparently it was only I who had no idea what was going on.

Michael spoke again and I could hear from his tone that he was speaking more harshly.  I listened carefully to the other man's babbling response, which sounded an octave higher and a touch faster than before.

Michael spoke once more to the man standing before him.  This time his voice was slower, almost an angry hiss.  Through the grey darkness I could see the man's face standing across from him blanch.

The man tried to say something, it sounded like a plea.  Michael's answer was curt.  "Non."

By this point the man looked as if he was ready to wet himself.  I felt really bad for him but at the same time it was interesting in a detached and morbid sort of way to watch Michael take control of their meeting so ruthlessly.

There was obviously more to this meeting than a mere proposition, because I had seen Michael deal with potential business partners before and this was no normal proposition.  What had this foolish man done to enrage Michael?

As I watched him, I knew I never wanted to deal with Michael as a serious adversary.  The thought was frightening. 

Certainly, I locked horns with Michael regularly, but he seemed to regard it as a harmless game.  Even in the beginning when my life was forever changed according to his whim he had treated it as a game and I could barely even summon resentment about that any longer.

He was careless with me at times and even occasionally cruel, but I now saw that he had never bent the whole force of his will against me.  I was simply an amusing game and while the thought had angered me in the past, I could not help but feel grateful he treated me so lightly in that moment.  It was safer to be a court jester in the king's court than it was to be an enemy tortured in the King's dungeon.

I heard Michael say goodbye to the man in a ruthlessly cheerful tone, thus exhausting my French vocabulary.  Still in French, Michael called to the men by the other car and issued what seemed to be a quick series of directives.

Two of the men walked past us and accompanied the broken Frenchman towards the passenger side of his own beat up car.  All three got inside, the car's lights came on and the vehicle drove away.